


Sparks and Whistles

by conventionalstoryteller



Category: Original Work
Genre: Again, Blood, Dragons, Fantasy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, One Shot, Poetry, Short, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 22:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conventionalstoryteller/pseuds/conventionalstoryteller
Summary: A Fibonacci poem about a dragon and a powerless mage.Or:I write way too much about dragons.See notes for an explanation of the format.





	Sparks and Whistles

**Author's Note:**

> So, a Fibonacci poem is a poem that uses the Fibonacci sequence of numbers to dictate how long each line is. Your first and second lines have one word each, your third has two, your fourth has three, so on until you hit thirteen. Then, you can either reverse the countdown or start the process over again until you finish the poem. It's a lot of fun, and I recommend that everyone tries it at least once.
> 
> Anyways, on to the poem!

 

Breathe.

Smile.

Look around.

I’m home, safe.

Magic hums in my chest.

I haven’t cast a spell for many years.

There’s no point when all I can release is small sparks and whistles.

 

Not like the winds of my mother, or the ice from my sister.

They are average, but more powerful than me.

Fire blazes as I think.

Sparks are useless,

Whistles, more.

Powerless,

Alone.

 

Wait.

Fire?

A Dragon!

In the clouds.

He lands in the east.

My neighbours run west, but I do not.

I pick up my wand, check my potions, and I leave my home.

 

He is waiting for me when I arrive, heart pounding and chest heaving.

I raise my wand, and open a potion.

I shout my battle cry.

He doesn’t react.

He shifts.

He’s…

Asleep?

 

No!

Blood.

On the grass.

The terrible beast is injured.

He’s alive, but his strength won’t last long.

I hesitate, then I spring to action, and pull a healing potion free.

 

I think of my mother’s shouting and my sister’s disappointment as I work.

My mind swirling, I watch the scratches close.

The dragon stands, and stares.

I stare back.

He looks…

Confused?

Upset?

 

No.

Thankful.

He stands.

It takes effort.

A gem falls to earth.

“A gift”, he says, and I take it.

I feel a rush of power, and my magic surges towards the sky.

 

The familiar sparks turn to fire, roaring and spitting like the beast ahead.

The whistles are euphonious, and they bring tears.

I pocket the new treasure.

I can’t speak.

He flies.

He’s…

Gone.


End file.
